When the Golden State Warriors were still the San Francisco Warriors, they used to play at the Civic Center Auditorium. Their offices were on Golden Gate Avenue and Van Ness, a tiny building with a large sized “San Francisco Warrior” sign over the plate glass entrance. The San Francisco 49ers had their own offices at the Jack Tar Hotel a few blocks away, but none of those structures interested any of us as much as the Doggie Diner on Van Ness.
I was a student at Cathedral Junior High when I began to exercise bits of teenage rebellion, ditching Japanese school in favor of hanging with classmates at Doggie Diner. There would be about ten of us who would stand around in our green and gold school uniforms, putting our bags on top of the old counters as we ate our burgers and played loud music over the little jukebox. We were just carefree kids, most of us from low income families of different ethnicities who were learning to spread our wings.
Al Attles, the head coach of the San Francisco Warriors, would spend his late afternoons at Doggie Diner, standing against one of the counters as he ate his giant burger and fries. Without fail, he would always let us ask him hundreds of questions and never disregarded anything we had to say. Our regular presence, in fact, never stopped him from returning to Doggie Diner. As time went on, Mr. Attles would bring along glossy photos that he would sign and give to us as gifts, and eventually started to give away some tickets to the game.
While I was never a big fan of basketball, I did love the San Francisco Warriors for having a strong presence in the community.
Nate Thurmond used to have a bar downstairs from my classmate Cheryl’s apartment. She used to tell me that he was a nice man, and I remember standing with her as we saw him walk into his club one afternoon. Thurmond was an impressive presence who would elegantly lift his long body from what seemed like a tiny Alfa Romeo, and he was always dressed in cool kat threads. There was a long coat, the platform shoes, the big hat and a smart looking outfit. He was a star among us, and I had envisioned that all athletes carried themselves as well as Mr. Thurmond.
There was also Phil Smith, a native San Franciscan and graduate of George Washington High School. He opened a little sneaker shop in the Richmond District along the 31 Balboa route. When I was a student at Wash’ riding the Balboa, all heads would always turn to stare at the store. We were a bit proud that one of us had made it in NBA life, and would return to place himself in the midst of the community.
The San Francisco Warriors would eventually become the Golden State Warriors, moving to Oakland and amassing the best fan base in the NBA.
Welcome home, San Francisco Warriors!
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